VOL. LIV. PROFESSIONAL CARDS OF BELLEFONTE. C. T. Alexander. c. M. bower. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office In Qarman's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. QLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. Y° CUM & HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA. High Street, opposite First National Bank. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BELLEFONTt PA. Practices in all the courts of Centre County. Spec al attention to collections. Consultations in German or English. F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BKLLKFONTK, PA. All business promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J. W. Gephart. JGEAVER & GEPHART. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA. Office on Alleghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA omce on Woodrlug's Block, Opposite Court House. U S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA Consultations In English or German. Office In Lyon's Building, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOVE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. BKLLKFONTK, PA Office In the rooms formerly occupied by the late w. P. Wilson. BUSINESS CARDS OF XILLHEIX, *. f 1 A. STURGIS, * DEALER IS Watches, Clocks. Jewelry, Silverware, he. Re pairing neatly and promptly don- and war ranted. Main Street, opposite Bank, M Uhelm, Pa. ~A 0 DEININGER, * NOTARY PUBLIC. SCRIBNKR AND CONVEYANCKR, MILLHEIM, PA. All business entrusted to him. such as writing and acknowledging Deeds, Mortgages, Helens* a, he., will he executed with neatness and dis patch. Office on Main Street. TT H. TOMLINSON, * DEALER IN ALL KINDS OF Groceries. Notions, Drugs. Tobaccos, Cigars, Fine Confectloneiies and everything in the line of a first-class Grocery st >re. Country Produce i aken In exchange for goods. Main Ist eet, opposite bank, Ml lbelin. Pa. TpvAVID I. BROWN, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN TINWARE. STOVEPIPES, Ac., SPOUTING A SPECIALTY. Shop on Main Stre< t. two h uses east of Bank, Mlllhelm, Penna. J EISENHU I'H, * JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, MILLHEIM, PA. All business promptly at tended f. collection of claims a specialty. Office opposite Rlsenbuih's Drug Store ~|AjJ USSER & SMIIH, DEALERS IN Hardware. Stoves, Oils, Paints, Glass, Wa Papers coach Trimmings, and Saddlery Ware, Ac,. Ac. All grades of Patent Wheels. Corner of Main and Penn Streets, Mlllhelm, Penna. TACOB WOLF, FASHIONABLE TAILOR, MILLHEIM, PA. Cutting a Specialty. Shop next door to Journal Book Store. jyjILLHEIM BANKING CO., MAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. A. WALTER, Cashier. DAV. KRAPK, Pres. BARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBURQ, PA. JaUsfaetloa Guaranteed. ikt pitllicim giirial DEAR GRANDMOrHKR. Grandmother paoea witli stately tr* ad Forward and back through the quaint old room. Out of the firelight, dancing and rid. Into the gathering dusk and gloom ; Forwaid and back. In her silken dress With its falling ruflioi of frost-like lace ; A look of the deepest tenderness In the faded lines of her fine old face. Warm on her breast in bis red uight-gowu Like a scarlet lily the baby lies. While softly the tired lids droop dowu Over the little sleepy eves. Grandmother sings to h m sweet and low, And memories oome wi h the cradle-song Of the days when she sang it long ago. When her life was young and her heart was strong. Grandmother's children have left her now, 'lie large old house is a shadowed place ; 1 ut abit iff i it in the sunset glow Of I cr life, like a star, comoe the baby's He lire wi ere of cld bis father lav ; i silly sl e eings him the same sweet strain Till the 'ears-rtcivcrirpere swept si ay, And the jcy of life's n orninp is 1 ere sgsi Grandmother's gray bead is lending low Over the dear little downy one The atepe of her pathway are few to go ; The baby's journey is just begun. Yet the roey dawn of his childish love Brightens the evening that else were dim ; And m after years from her home above. The light of her bles-ing will rest on him. On The Heights. "I will stand up to shout." Hugh said. "Will you lean back against this hill? I will lay your cousin down with her head in your lap. she is sound as a top. Now for it!" and standing up Hugh gave a shout with all the power of his lungs. There was a pause in the movement of the lanterns and then a shout. "Hallo-a-a!" Hugh shouted again; "this way!" Rapidly the lauterns came flittering along the road till they were d wn in front of them. "Here we are! here are the ladies!" Hugh shouted. "Any one hurt?" much: but we can't get either up or down. You must let a rope dowu to us from above. Here we are," and Hugh struck a match and lighted a large piece of paper. "Have the party above got ropes?" There was shouting backward and for ward, but the party above had not got ropes. "Send back for them at once," Hugh shouted, "and be sure and tell the lady that no damage is done here." "How do you feel now?—l was going to say cousin Amy," he laughed; "but I really haven't the pleasure of knowing your name?" "Amy Herbert." "How do you feel now. Miss Herbert?" "I feel weak, and rather headachy," she said; "but there is notlung really the mat ter with me. What an escape I have had!" "Yes, you had a narrow 9queak of it," Hugh said frankly; "just another pound or two of impetus and you would have gone over the ledpe." She was silent, and he went on. "Do you object to smoke? Because if you don't I should really like to light my pip®." "Not at all," Amy said. "There's something comfortable about a pipe," Hugh said, when it was fairly alight; "somehow one can talk when one gets a pipe alight." "I think men can talk at all times, * Amy said, with a flash of her usual spirits. "Bom# men can," Hugh said. "I can talk with men; but, do you know, some how I can't talk with women. I can talk with you now because I don't see you, and because lam smoking; but I should feel horribly uncomfortable if I met you in the morning." "I did not know any men were shy with women, nowadays," Amy said. "Shy?" Hugh repeated. "Well, yes, I suppose it is a sort of shyness witn me. I never had any sisters, and so, you see, I never got in the way of talking to girls. It is very annoying sometimes, and makes people think me a bear. I suppose you thought so. You must have done so." "Yes, ' Amy said. "1 did think you rather a bear, I am not accustomed to shy young men, and simply fancied you did not want to speak to strangers. And now, please tell me exactly what hap pened, because I shall have to ted aunt, and I have only a confused idea of what has taken place." Again Hugh told her the facts. • Then I owe my life to you," the girl said, when he had finished. "I really don't think you do," Hugh said, in a matter-of-fact way. "I ques tioo very much if you would have come roundout of your taint before I could have brought help from Barmouth. How ever, of course, I acted for the best, and it avoided all risk. There was no danger in getting down to you; the little one and 1 slipped down as easily as possible. If I thought you were going to tell me to-morrow that you were very grateful, or anything of that sort, I give you my honor I should go right away by the coach to Carnarvon." The g irifelt by the tone of Hugh's voice, that there was no affectation about him; that he really meant what he said. "I may just say 'thank you,' now? " she asked quietly. " Yes, just thank you, '" he said light ly. "If I were a man you would shake hands over it?" the girl asked. "Yes," Hugh said. "Please give me your hand." He stooped down, and she put her hand into his "Thank you," in a deep, quiet, earnest roice. Then as he rose again, she went on, in a changed voice. "Now mind, it is a bargain. We have shaken hands on it. lam not to be grate ful, and you are not to be afraid of me, but are just to be as natural with me as with Ida." "That is a bargain," Hugh said, with a laugh. "I don't think I shall feel shy with you in the future. I never talked so much with a woman in my life. I sup pose it's because I can't see your face." "I doa't know whether to take that for a compliment or the reverse," Amy laugh ed. MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER IS, 1880. "The reverse, of course," Hugh said, laughing, too; "compliments are not in my line. Ah, here they are with the rope. They have Iteen precious quick about it." And Ainy Herbert felt there was a real compliment In the tones in which bespoke. "Now you must wake Ida. How souudly she sleeps! Now let me help you on to your feet." Eveu with the aid of the rope It was a work of considerable difliculty to get Amy Herbert up to thet op of the slope; for she was weak and shaken, and unable to do much to help herself. At last it was managed; anil then she was helped down a steep path close by the road below, where a carriage from the hotel was waiting for them. "Will you come up ami see my aunt?" Amy asked, as they stopped at the door. "Not to-night, thank you. I will come in the morniug to see how you are after the shake; and, please," he "tell your auul of our bargain. It would be awful to come up to be thanked." "Good night," the gill raid. I won't forget. Come early. Now, Ida, come along; you will soon be iu bed.'' Two mouths later Mr. Ilcrbort was walk ing up and down his breakfast-ioom in a towering passion. Amy was sitting in a great arm chair. "It is monstrous, it is incredible," Mr. Herbert exclaimed. "Here you, for whom I have looked for a capital match, who re fused three of the very best men iu the dis trict last year, are away for two months and a half at this beggarly Welsh village, and you come back and deliberately tell me that you have engaged yourself to an artist, a fellow I never heard of." "Dear old daddy," Amy said quietly, "don't get angry about it. Come and sit down and talk it over reaaonly, as you al ways do things with me." "No, no, Amy. I know what your reasonable talking means. lam not to be coaxed or wheedled or made a fool of. It's all very well when you want a pair of new ponies or anything of that kind you have set your mind on, but there is a limt to everything." "Well, but we must talk the question over, daddy." "Not at all, not at all; no talk is neces sary. You tell me you waut to marry this fortune-hunting artist. I say at once I won't hear of it; that it's out of the ques tion; that 1 wdl not hear a single word about such a ridiculous affair." "Now, why should you call him a for tune-hunter?" Amy said, seizing at once upon the weak point. "He has not an idea that there is any fortune in the case. He saw me staying in poky lodgings at Barmouth, and, beyond the fact that I live at Manchester, he knows nothing. lie tells me that he has enough for us to live on very quietly, in addition to his profes sion. So, yox ses, he can't be called a fortune hunter." "Well, well, it makes no matter. The thing is monstrous, and 1 will not hear of U." "Well, daddy, I will do just as you like, and I won't say any more about it now; but, of course, to-morrow 1 must talk about it, because it is out of the question that 1 should break my word which 1 have given, and should make him unhappy, and be awfully unhappy myself. So i shall have to talk about him, and you will have to listen" —the father had sat down now — "because though, as my papa, you have a perfect right to say, *1 will not consent to your marrying this man,' still you know, 1 must talk about a thing which is making me very unhappy. And it will be so much better and nicer, daddy," and she went over to him now and sat herself down on his knee, with her arm around his neck, "if you give in at once. Because, you know, you can't keep in a naughty temper with me long; and besides, you would be very unhappy if I was unhappy; and at last, you know very well, you will have to give up being cruel and cross, and will tell me to be happy my own way. "Amy," her father said, trying to look very stem, "I have spoiled you. I have allowed you to tyrannize over me." "No, daddy, I can't allow that—cer tainly not tyrannize. I have led you for your own good, and you have been as happy as the day is long—" "And now," he continued, ignoring the protest, "I am to reap the reward of my folly. That you should have married a first-rate man of business I should have been contented. But an artist!" "Well, daddy, we wont talk any more about it to-day. Now I'll just smooth those naughty wrinkles, and I'll kiss you on each cheek and in the middle of your nose. There, now it looks like itself. There! ten o'clock striking, and you not off I Mind I shall expect you up to lun cheon." Bo Mr. Herbert went off shaking his head, and although still determined, yet at heart very doubtful as to his power of re sistance. Amy went to her special sanc tum, and wrote her first lc ter to Hugh. The following sentences show that she had no doubt whatever on the subject: "Daddy noes not take quite kindly to the notion as yet. He doesn't know you, you see, and it has of course come up on him a little suddenly, but he is the very best and kindest of all the daddies in the world, and in a very few days he will see it in quite the right light. It is no use your writing or coming to me here till ho is quite reasonable: but I expect by this day week to have everything arranged. I w ill let you know what train to come by, and will meet you at the station." It is to be presumed that Amy thorough ly understood her father; but at any rate, it was exactlly that day week that Hugh Carson, having olieyed instructions, and got out at the station directed, five miles from Manchester, was a little surprised and much disapDoiuted at not seeing her upon the platform. "Your luggage, sir! Are you the gen tlemen for the Hawthorns? Very well, sir, I will send up the portmanteau; Miss Her bert is in the pony-carriage." "Bless me. Amy, Hugh said, after the first greeting, as they drove off, "you used to talk about your pony-trap, but this turn out is pretty enough to attract attention in the park. Amy" and he looked at hei with a puzzled glance, "you're not a swell, are you?—because that would be dread ful." "Well, Hugh, if being a swell means having lots of money, I suppose I am one. for daddy has lots upon lots. He's got cotton-mills, you know. But there's noth ing dreadful in that." "You ought to have told me, Amy," Hugh said, a little gravely. "PcMribet*,'" the girl said. "In the first place, it was nice to that % yoi& tell in love with me without knowing whether I hail a halfpenny; iu the second place, you would be very likely have run away It you hail thought 1 wasrich;aud to know tell you the truth, Master Hugh, 1 had no idea of letting you run away. There, Hugh, there's the house; isn't it pretty ?" "It's almost a palace," Hugh aaid iu disuiny. "Yes; noil there's papa at the door wait ing to greet you. Now, look quite pleu sant and bright, Hugh, for, of course, 1 want him to like you almost as much as I da" Fatal Duel*. A noted duel occuroil at Paris in the winter of 1858 59, between Count Trepan co, a Neapolitan nobleman, and the Mar quis tie Pierrefonds. The Marquis had preseuteil to a young woman of the demi moude a vase of cardenias of unique beauty. On the same evening he accompanied her to a ball, which, by the way, was given by the notorious Me rope Uarucci. While dancing the lauciers with the girl, the Mar quis noticed in the same set a handsome youth. He wore a cardenia iu bis button hole. He questioned his partner, aud was satisfied that she had given the flower to the Italian. He went straight to the Count anil tore the flower flora his la-east. A eliallenged followed. Pistols were select ed. Twelve shots were exchanged, at a distance of twenty feet, without a result. T he Italian insisted on continuing the duel, saying that he could not be an actor in a farce. At the thirteenth shot he received a bullet in his heart, and expired. In his testamentary letter he entreated, in case he should be killed, that the Marquis de Pierre fontls would place upon his cold heart the cardenia which had been the cause of the strife. Six mouths later Pierrefonds, who was aid de-camp to Geueral l'Espinassc, was entering a village during the battle of Magenta. The first shot from the neigh boring houses struck him in the heart,mak iug a wound identical to that received by the Italian Count. The dry reaves of a cardeuial were found in an envelope above the dead Marquis' heart. A bouquet of violets was the oause of a fatal duel. The young Count de Seiguelay, attache to the French Legation at the Hague, was visiting Brussels. The youth ful diplomat hail been desperately in love with Diane de Chanceray, a beautiful wo ma i. Cue eveuing, as the Count was wit nessing a performance at the Theater de la Mouuaie,he suw her,covered with diamonds and laces, in a box with the Prince de Klostercamp. The heart of the young lover beat violently. All the souvenirs of his former happiuess flashed before him. Diaue grew paler than the lace she wore. She leveled her opera glass at him, and kept it fastened upon him for a long time. Then she tore a bouquet of violets from her bosom aud began to kiss and bite them. They gazed at each other like Italian lovers. As the performance was drawing to a close she arose to depart. Seignelay placed himself in the loyer at the foot of the marble staircase. He requested a frisnd who was acquainted with Prince Kioster camp to engage him in conversation for a moment, so as to give him an opportunity to exchange a few words with the lady. His friend Fervailyues did af ter kissing the violets thrust them benoath the open vast of the young lover. The Prince, however, saw the action. Next morning two of his friends called on the ht ache with a challenge. [A duel followed* Swords were the weapons. Seignelay was pierced through the heart after five assaults, and expired in the arms of his friends, ut tering the name of Diane. He was buried in a cemetery near Brussels. Two years later the witer visited the cemetery and saw a bouquet of fresh violets ou the stone that mrrked his grave. A Rath in the Dead Sea. Greatly relieved and refreshed, we pur sued our journey. As we came in sight of the Dead Sea we noticed that peculiar hazy appearance of the atmosphere, reminding us of Indian summer in our own country, and we found ourselves subject to that singular optical delusion sometimes pro duced by a very transparent and highly rarefied atmosphere, in which distant ob jects appear quite near. At a certain point, when we were some five distant, it seemed as if we were within half a mile of the shore. Reaching, at length, this most remarkable of all the seas and lakes on our globe, we prepared to take a bath—and such a bath I can hardly expect ever to take again. I had previously bethed In numerous seas, lakes, and rivers, but never did I enjoy such a bath as this. The spe cific. gravity of the water is such, from its holding in solution so large a proportion of salts, (twenty-six and a half per cent.) that one floats upon the surface like a cork. At the time there was only a gentle ripple upon the sea, and being a good swimmer I at struck out into deep water. I soon f<mnd out that 1 could swim and float with wonderful ease, and that I could actually walk in the water, sinking only to the arm pits, Discovering this fact, I made for the shore, and taking Dr. C., one of the party, who could not swim, by the band, led him out into the sea where the water was many fathoms deep. At first he was quite reluctant to follow me, but he soon gained confidence on finding there was no danger of sinking, and he enjoyed the nov el bath as much as if he bad been an expert swimmer. Shaker Dietetics. Their diet is simple but sufficient. Pork is never eaten, and only a part of the Shaker people eat any meat at all. Many use no food produced by animals denying them selves even butter, milk and eggs. At Mount Lebanon, and in some of the other societies, two tables are set, the one with, the other without meat. They consume much fruit eating it at every meal; and they have it always fine and extensive vegetable gardens and orchards. Father Evans (the Shakers call him Elder Evans, but jve like father better), now about seventy years old, and at the head of one branch of the Shaker community at Leba non, has not eaten flesh for neaily forty years, and he is hale and hearty, much more so than most men of his age; yet when he commenced his vegetable diet he was in a declining state of health; as he tells us, "a candidate for consumption.'* THK greatest gun from sheep hus bandry is in saving as much AS possi ble of labor and loss in management of the deck, and much disappointment and discouragement will follow early j lambing of ewes if comfortable quar- I ters and good care are waiting. A Ittnarkable Dream. Two ladies, sisters, had been for several days iu attendance upon their brother, who was ill witlra common sore throat—severe and protracted; but not considered as at tended with any danger. At the same time one of them had borrowed a watch from a female frieud, in consequence of her own being under repair. The watch was one to which pailicular value was attached, on account of family associations; aud some anxiety was expressed that it might not meet with any injury. The sisters were sleeping together, in a room couunuyicaling with that of their brother, when the elder of them awoke in a state of great agitation; and having aroused the other, told iter that she had a frightful dream. "I drcain't," she said, "that Mary's watch stopped; and that, when 1 told you of the circumstance, you replied, 'Much worse than that has happened, for James's breath has slopped also!'" naming their brother wiio was ill. To quiet her agitation, the younger sister immediately got up, and found the brother sleeping quietly; and the watch which had been carefully pnt up in a drawer, going correctly. The following night the same dream occurred, followed by similar agita tion, which was again composed in the same manner; the brother be ing again found in a quiet sleep, aud the watch going well. On the following morning, soon alter the family breakfasted, one of the sisters was sitting by her brother, and the other was writing a note in the adjoining room. Wiien her note was ready for being sealed, she was proceeding to take out for this purjKise the watch above alluded to which had been put by in her writing-desk, when she was astonished to find it had stopped; and at the same instant she heard a scream of in tense distress from her sister in the other room. Their brother, who had still been considered as going on favorably, had beeu seized with a sudden fit of suffocation and hail just breathed his last. Sophie Potokl. Hophie Potockie was born in Pera. Her parenU were of Greek extraction, and closely allied to the distinguished families of Ghika and Mauro&ordatoa. But they were then impoverished ; and Sophie was earning a livelihood In a coffee house. Here she attracted the attention of Boakamp, the Polish ambassador. Some writers say that Bosk amp had received private orders from Stanislaus Augustus to bring home with kirn a beautiful Greek girl; others assert that it was his own conception to take her to Stanislaus, knowing well how acceptable such a gift would be. How ever that may be, he purchased the young Greek girl of her parents for 1,500 pias ters —equivalent to $76 —and started with her for Poland. For some reason he was obliged to leave Sophie in Chozim, a fron tier town, while he hurried to Warsaw. Her picture, however, he carried with him. Young men quickly learn of the ar rival in their neighborhood of a pretty girl. De Witt, son of the commander of Kamieuec, was among the first to visit the young beauty. Their acquaintance ripen ened into love, and led to & secret mar riage. The father of De Witt,learning of the mar. iage, has'ened after his son, arrested him and put him in irons, swearing he would not release him until he bad promised to give up Sophie. Hereupon the young wife threw herself at the feet of the angry father, who, won by her looks and tears, finally relented. Sophie now sought to fit herself for her new position in life. She became a good linguist, and accomplished in many ways. In Paris, which city she often visited with her husband, she was greatly admired, counting among her conquests the subse quent King Louis XVIII. At last her husband became jealous and treated her with such harshness and severity that she lied to Constantinople. After a time, however, a reconcilation was brought about, and she consented to return to Poland. There she passed five or six uneventful years. In 1788 she went with her husband to Warsaw. Years had only added to her charms. In Warsaw every one was intoxi cated with her beauty. Whenever she ap peared in society the guests mounted chai;s and tables to gaze upon her. She was called the "Goddess of Beauty" and the "Grecian Venua" The intimacy between her and Count Potocki dates from this visit. Felix Potocki was born in 1763; at Krys tynopol, one of the many estates of his father. He grew up under the supervision of his mother and the instruction of the pianist. Wolff. In 1770 the Turks, then waging war in Europe, threatened to de stroy Krystynopol. Felix, a lad of 17 years, under the plea of a necessity for bodily exercise, obtained permission of his father to oversee the frontier guard. His youthful fancy had been caug;it by the pretty face and graceful figure of the daughter of a neighboring Castellan. The war, however, had interupted their inter course. His new military duty would allow tne young man frequent opportuni ties of meeting this girl, and of arranging a secret marriage without the knowledge of either parents. The Cas e!l*n belonged to the middle order of nobility; conse quently, a marriage between the two fami lies could not but be regarded by the Potokis as most derogatory to their pride and position. Count Potocki had also other views for his son. A dis tinguished lady, Castellanin Mnizech, had proposed a betrothal between her daughter, Josephine, and the young count. When, a few months later, Count Potocki learned of the marriage of his son his indignation knew no bounds. Threats of violence to himself and his young wife led Felix, in a moment of weakness, to consent to a sep aration. He hoped thereby, to ward off a gi eater danger to his wile. His submis iion was, however, of no avail. Count Potoki ordered the Cossacks to make a night assault on the house of the Castellan and carry off the daughter. The young wife was torn from her bed at midnight, hurried into a sledge and driven towards Krystj.)[.ol. A long train of ] heavily-laden carts barred the way and compelled a halt. The Cossacks, fearing their prisoner's call for help would betray them, sought to suppress her cries by stifling them with wraps and cushions. When, finally, the road was clear and they had removed the wrappings which they had wound about her head, the young wife was found to be dead. To remove all traces of their guilt the Cossacks cut a hole in the ice of a near stream, into which thev thrust the body of their victim. The blow fell heavily on Felix. In the first moment of despair he sought to take his own life. Frustrated in this, he sank i into a state of profound melancholy. He never recovered entirely from the shock. His character changed. He grew moody, unsocial and gloomy. He married the same Josephine whom his father had chosen as a bride for him. This marriage entered into with little love or inclination, proved far from happy. Josephine was gifted with bodily and mental charms, which kept her husband faithful to her for a time. She, however, was not equally faithful to him. Still their life was outwardly calm and peaceful until 1782, when political business drew Count Potccki to J assy. Here he again met Sophie, at that time a visitor of Potembin, and here matter? came to a crisis. Although Potocki was over 40 years and the father of a large family,he became so infatuated with Sophie thai he resolved for her sake, to seek a separation from his wile. Negotiations were entered into with I)e Witt, who readily consented, for a stipulation, to give up Sophia. Once more the bca utiful woman was sold. We are not this time made acquainted with the terms of agreement. Apparently the lovely Greek was not averse to an arrange ment which gave her for a husband one of the wealthiest noblemen of Poland. The marriage, however, was not consummated until the year following. The bishop Siorakowski, influenced, it is is said, by bribes, dissolved the tie which bound him to Josephine. Sophie was likewise freed from obligations to her husband. . The ue wly-married pair departed for Hamburg, where they remained several vears. On his return to his native land Potocki de voted himsell to the creation of that bit of of fairy land, that lasting monument of his infatuation for the beautiful woman, then his wife, that celebrated spot which bears her name, ' 'Sofijowka." Out of a barren waste, upon which 10.000 laborers were employed, grew this beautiful country seat, which even to this day is the admiration of all visitors. The immense parks, the artificial lakes, rocks, streams and woods liave often been described by travelers and immortalized by the Polish poet Trembecki in his poems entitled "Sofijowka." In this spot, absorbed in his love for his wife, Potocki passed the last 10 years of his life. Here his Nemesis met him. Potocki'a eldest son, likewise called Felix, had been banished by the czar from St. Petersburg on account of his enormous debts. His father uot only paid these debts amounting to two millions, but gave his son the con trol of two large estates. In return, Felix,, the younger, rewarded his father by win- Ding the affections of his stepmother. The connection between the two lasted many years. When at last discovered by Count Potocki it is said to have hastened his death, which took place at Sofijowka in 1805. Sophie inherited one naff of her husband's estates and continued to live at Sofijowka with her five children, leading an active, hospitable and apparently res pectable life. Her house was thronged with guests and admirers. She died in Berlin m 1823. "Contrlbutive Negligence n The snow was falling fast, and Isaac Sil berstein was slowly making his way through the pelting storm. His melodious cry of "Eee-chaw-glass-pud-in" sounded muffled, and he staggered under the weight of his lrame of window-glass, which he had carried all the way from Bayard street. Patrick McGuire, one of the laborers on the Elevated Railroad, had been into Henry Knubel's saloon to warm his heart with a hot whisky, and emerging, crowbar in hand stepped on a large coal-grating ia front of the door. Isaac also stepped on the grating. In the next moment an in stantaneous change took place in the posi tion of the parties. Isaac lay prone on the snow, while on the other side of the grating Patrick floundered like a fish out of water, In their sudden fall the crow bar collided with the glass frame, and poor Isaac's stock in trade lay shattered around. The crowbar flying off at a tan gent made a Bodtne bull's-age in the crown of Pal's tall hat. When they regained their feet, Isaac and Patrick looked wildly around and glared fiercely at each other. Isaac ejaculated, "Mine Gott, my glass; fehr dollar, fehr dollar," and Patrick re spondent, "Bad luck attend ye; luk at my hat" An officer came up, and Isaac, said that Pat tripped him up with the crowbar. Pat was takon into custody, and Isaac, carefully gathering up the fragments of glass, followed him to Court to obtain bis "fehr" dollars. Pat was all indignation, Isaac all suavity. "Will you swear," said the Court, "that he tripped you up with the crowbar!" "I bring a hundred, thousand vitness," answered Isaac promptly. "Thin, why don't ye bring them! "said Patrick. "It's a lie he's telling. He shlipped on the gratin' and stumbled against me, and 1 fell with him. It was all his own fault, and he ought to pay me for me hat. 4 'Coutributive negligence is the defense," said the Court, "and I never knew any one obtain damages against a railroad com pany when that defensa was set up. This court cannot on the evidence furnish a precedent in so important a matter. Isaac, 1 don't believe Patrick tripped you up with the crowbar. Patrick, what county are you from? Patrick (promptly)— 44 County West meat h, your Honor." The Court—"The finest wrestlers in Ire land. Isaac, he would have used his foot instead of the crowbar. Sue him for dam ages. Patiick you are discharged." Then tliev stood on the sidewalk, Patrick gazing at the bole in his hat, and Isaac contemplating sadly the wreck of matter and the crash of glass which Patrick's crowbar had created. Indians. The whole number of Indians In the United States, except Alaska, is placed at 260,864, though it is obvious that the enu meration of the savage tribes is guess work merely. The number of Indians who wear citizen's dress is given at 127,458. In 1868 the number of Indians who occupied houses was 8,646. In the decade this has been increased to 23.060. The number of In dian schools is 366, more than double the number of ten years ago, and the pupils, increasing in like proportion, number 12,- 222. The amount spent on education is given as $363, 125. The number of In dians who can read is given as 41,309. The church membership includes 30,000. Pas toral and agricultural products have greatly increased within the decade. For instance, in 1868 the number of sheep owied was 7,968; in 1878, 594,574. The statistics are drawn cipefly from the Indian Terri j tory, though they prefess to cover the entire Indian population. Tattooed bj Savages. Alonzo Hewitt, belonged to the crew of the ship Angelica, which went ashore during a severe gale on the Patagonian coast. The vessel was manned by thirteen men, all of whom were captured by the savages and taken into the interior. The men were separated from each other and riven to different native chiefs as slaves. Mr. Hewitt never knew what became of his shipmates. He was taken by a savage named Minehoo, and compelled to carry heavy loads of provisions and hunting materials on long journeys. At night his hands would be tied behind his back, and one end of the leathern thong was fastened to a tree, so that he could not run away. No knife or shaip instrument of any kind was left within his reach, and he was as effectually a prisoner as though he had been locked up within strong walls. The whole story of his troubles and sufferings while in the hands of the savages would fill a whole volume, but the most Interest ing portion, which can be confined to the limits or newspaper account, is hia ac count of the manner in which he was tat tooed by the Pat agon ians. Almost the entire surface of Mr. Hewitt's body is covered witli indeilible representa tions of beasts, birds and reptiles. He said that the savages occupied over a month's time in making these unique pic tures. A preparation in many respects re sembling India ink, was used, and the method of producing the pictures was to puncture the skin with the points of small fish bones, and then rub the ink upon the wound thus produced. The ink thus pro duced a discoloration of the skin that can never De effaced. "What caused the Patagonians to mark you in this manner?" inquired the report er. "1 presume, the chief who held me cap tive wanted to disfigure me for the amuse ment of himself and his associates," was the reply. "1 hen you do not think the chief meant . to punish you?" "Not especially. In my mind he wished to display the artistic skill of one of his young braves in the pictorial line. He un doubtedly regarded my skin in much the same light that a painter does the white canvas. I was a good groundwork for or namentation." "Was the chief proud of you after the work was done?" "He was, indeed. I was taken about among the people and exhibited to admir ing eyes. The young men and maidens would point at the pictures and then look at each other and smile. Older savages would admire me by the hour, and 1 was one cf the greatest objects of interest in Patagonia." "Do you know the meaning of the pic turea?" "I only know that the pictures represent beasts, birds ana reptiles; but why they were selected as subjects, baffles my own- * prehension. 1 suppose that lam a sort of Patagooi&n obelisk and although unlike the Alexandrian monolith, I am not 8000 or 4000 years old, I perhaps represent relig ious ideas and historical facts." The tattooed man brushed his locks of shaggy hair back from his forehead, and disclosed a blue-and-yellowish representa tion of a bird. Although the bird has out stretched wings and beak and claws like an eagle, it is far from being a good repre sentation of the glorious American bird of freedom. On either side of the man's face is a bird that looks more like a young chicken than anything else. Lengthwise on the nose is a tiny picture of a blue snake with red eyes. A red snake with blue eyes encircles the man's neck. Rolling up his sleeves and baring his arms, Mr. Hewitt exhibited pictorial representations of more than a dozen different kinds of animals Borne of them resembled goats, others sheep and foxes. There were animals with horns and others without horns. There was a singular looking creature that reminded the reporter of a centaur, above the elbow of the right arm. There were more figures on the left arm than on the right one. The total number of distinct pictures on the man's body, he said, was 188. Only three colors are shown—red, blue and yellow. The inks were obtained by pressing the juice from vegetables and mixing it with fine earthy pigments. Mr. Hewitt thinks that the inks were of a poisonous nature, because they caused the limbs to swell to twice their normal size while the pictures were being made. A Baboon Dinner Episode. Bishop Oolenso gives this incident m the early lite of a South American baboon. There is something quaintly human about it: "It was a hot day and a number of baboons were sunning themselves along the bottom of the i Donga. They lay upon their bacfcs with half closed eyes, rubbing their stomachs in a state of placid enjoy ment. Two or three young baboons had wandered a little distance down the i Donga, searching for scorpions from stone to stone just below them. They were not very successful, and it did not appear that their movements were of much concern to their elders. Presently, however, one of the young ones, turning up a stone, lit upon a particular fine and tat scorpion, which, with a f uritive glance around at his elders, he seized and put into his mouth, having first pinched olf the sting. He at once proceeded to turn the stone over again wit a great assiduity, as though in further unsuccessful search for scorpions. ' He had not escaped notice, l 7wever, for down the gully in a sluggish; >' ; ame a great baboon who seized the young one by the cuff of the neck, shaking him vigorously until the plump morsel dropped from his pouch. Having gobbled this up, the elder baboon at cmce regained his lounge, and all went on as before in the sleepy hollow." The Number of Plants. In the Bible about 100 plants are alluded to; Hippocrates mentioned 238; Theo phrastus 500 and Pliny 800. From this time theie was little addition until the Renaissance. In the beginning qf the fif teenth century Gesner could only enumer ate 800 butat its close B&uhin described 6,000. Tournefort in 1694 recognized 10, - 156 species ; but Linnaeus, in the next cen tifty working more cautiously, defined only 7,294. In the beginning of this century, in 1805 Persoon described 25,000 species, comprising, however, numerous minute fungi. In 1819 De Candolle estimated the known species at 80,000. Loudon in 1889 gave 81,731 species; in 1846 Professor Lindley gave 80,887, but in 1868 these had increased to 92,920. At present the known speeies are estimated at 126, *#o. NO. 46.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers